


To Have and To Hold

by seekrest



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (sort of), College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, F/M, Inspired by Loving v. Virginia, Interracial Relationship, Light Angst, POV Michelle Jones, discussions of racism, it’s... not really angst, more emotional catharsis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: Michelle fumed as she slammed the door behind her, resting her back against it as she tried to calm down.This was pointless, literally pointless, for her to allow some idiot’s comments to get her so upset - not when she’s heard and experienced worse. Not when it was couched in a compliment. Not when she knew Adam wasn’t as big of a jerk as he could’ve been.But it did bother her. It always did.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 81
Kudos: 225





	To Have and To Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to blondsak for listening to me yell about this for months and for doing a proofread. And to spiders-n [ who included something in their fic that inspired a part of Peter and MJ’s conversation.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471879/chapters/49030367#workskin)

Michelle fumed as she slammed the door behind her, resting her back against it as she tried to calm down. 

_“Of course you got the internship. Should’ve guessed they’d go for you.” Adam said with a laugh._

_“What are you talking about?” Michelle says, eyeing him up and down._

_“I mean, you know,” Adam says with a shrug, looking at Michelle up and down before gesturing to himself, “It’s not like I had a chance anyway.”_

She could feel her shoulders tense, her fingers balling into fists as her fingernails left deep indents into her skin as she closes her eyes. 

_“No, I don’t know,” Michelle says, forcing herself to stare at him - an even tone, practiced as it always was, “what do you mean?”_

_Adam looks at her like she’s stupid, rolling his eyes playfully as he says, “Come on Jones. You know what I mean. I’m happy for you. I know you’ll do great.”_

This was pointless, literally pointless, for her to allow some idiot’s comments to get her so upset - not when she’s heard and experienced worse. Not when it was couched in a compliment. Not when she knew Adam wasn’t as big of a jerk as he could’ve been.

But it did bother her. It always did. 

It’s like a weight in her chest - in her stomach, in her lungs - the rationalization that she gives herself yet again that it wasn’t so bad this time around just frustrates her further, exhaling sharply as Michelle opens her eyes. 

This wasn’t okay - it wasn’t _ever_ okay. But it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, Michelle gritting her teeth as she forcibly inhales and exhales - a coping mechanism for how to calm down that she’s utilized over the years to middling success. 

_“The whole world’s gonna tell you that you can’t,” her mother said, the memory of her soft fingers working through the curls in her hair, “don’t ever believe them.”_

_“I know, mom.”_

_“I mean it, Michelle,” she said more firmly, bracing her hand on her shoulders. “Don’t let them tell you about what you can do and where you can go.”_

_Michelle looked up, seeing the love and conviction in her eyes._

_“Don’t let them stop you.”_

Taking the few seconds she needs to calm down, dwelling in the memory of the words of her mom works in her favor - letting the cool air from the AC wash over her as it turns on. 

Michelle’s eyes drift from the ratty couch that her and Peter had fought over at a flea market when they first moved in, the rug that Betty gave to them as a house warming present and the quilt that May had made during her freshman year of college.

The latter sends a flood of warmth rushing through her, a stark contrast to the cool air blowing throughout the room, at how much attention and care that May Parker had given to her throughout the years.

_“I think you’ll do great, MJ. I’m so proud of you.”_

_“Thanks, May,” Michelle beamed, fingers curled around her mug of tea, “I think it’ll be good for me.”_

It was the kind of love and appreciation that Michelle so desperately missed from her own mother, fingers flexing again as her eyes drift away from their furniture and towards the decorations.

Her and Peter's apartment was small, "cozy" as Tony had called it once - even if the memory of how his face had looked when they moved in made Michelle want to laugh.

And it was - tiny, cramped, every nook and cranny filled with books and leftover papers, a stray mug here and there that both her and Peter meant to get to and yet never did.

But it was undeniably _theirs_ \- something that her and Peter had paid for with their own money. Something that they chose together, a little corner of New York that they'd created, a haven that was just for them.

Michelle lifts herself off the door and walks through their living room, bypassing the couch and going straight to the bookshelf - her own organizational system conflicting with the haphazard way that Peter tended to take books out and smoosh them back into place, smiling as she looks at the pictures adorned across the shelves.

She'd never been one for sentiment, in words nor in action, but the years that she'd been with Peter, the way he loved - freely and without abandon - inspired something in Michelle that just made her wish that the world was an easier place to be in.

Adam's words ring in her memory, gritting her teeth and forcing that feeling away as best she can - committing herself to living in the moment, to the four walls of their apartment and to the small slice of peace that they'd created.

She takes another deep breath, ready to rid herself of the things that have been creeping up and down her spine - feelings that won't ever go away, thoughts and ideas and opinions that she's heard her _whole life_ \- only to hear the window crack open, a smile on her face when she turns to see a familiar flash of red and blue.

"Hey Em, I didn't think you'd be home so soon," Peter says, ripping off his mask with a smile on his face.

In one hand he has his mask but in the other is a styrofoam package, Michelle smirking as she nods towards it and asks, "Spider-Man into delivery service now?"

Peter grins, standing upright as he uses his masked hand to slide the window down as he says, "Only for my favorites."

"Didn't know superheroes were allowed to have favorites," Michelle says, Peter shaking his head a little as he drops his mask to the floor - walking up to her with a huge smile on his face.

"That's _teachers._ Superheroes can like whoever they want," he whispers, kissing her soundly on the mouth as Michelle smiles.

He smells like a mixture of sweat, formaldehyde and something just sour enough that it makes Michelle wrinkle her nose as she says, "You stink."

Peter laughs, kissing her again before passing the bag of what she can only imagine is food from how good it smells in contrast to him as he says, "Yeah, some idiot decided to light up Central Park on my way home from lab so I didn't get a chance to shower before I got home."

He grimaces, a faraway expression in his eyes that's familiar to her as he says, "No one got hurt but.. it was a close call you know?"

Michelle nods once, shaking the bag in her hand as she says, "Okay well, get in the shower and then you can tell me about it when you get out okay? What'd you get, dim sum?"

"Pho from that place on 7th," Peter says, a tired smile on his face. "Is that okay?"

Michelle smiles, pushing away her terrible day as best she can as she says, "Yeah, it's perfect."

* * *

“So then I say, ‘come on guys, can’t we just _quark_ it out here’ and for two guys decked out in _Star Trek_ gear, you would’ve thought they would’ve appreciated that a little more.”

“Uh huh,” Michelle hums along, knowing that when Peter got like this that all he needed was a little verbal encouragement. She busies herself with another cradling of noodles with the soup spoon May had gotten them at the flea market. 

“Like I know my jokes have been bad lately but they’re not _bad_ right? You’d tell me if I was starting to grow stale?”

“Yep,” Michelle says absentmindedly, slurping up some broth as she says, “It’s what I’m here for right?”

When Peter doesn’t respond, Michelle glances up at him - watching the way his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. 

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Michelle says, “just tired. Long day,” she says with a smile that she hopes appears genuine, glancing back to Peter who looks unconvinced. 

“No, something’s bothering you,” Peter says more definitively, “what is it?”

Adam’s words come back to the forefront of her mind, debating whether she really wanted to dive into this conversation - not when considering all the things she’s ever heard in her life, Adam’s comments weren’t even close to the most demoralizing.

Michelle also knew Peter, knew him well enough to guess that he would get angry and want to do something about it - something that Michelle knows with a bone weary exhaustion, can’t be undone with any one encounter.

Especially when if it was explained to someone else, someone _white,_ it would sound innocuous. 

“It’s nothing, Pete. Really,” Michelle begins, stirring the soup in front of her, “just some jackass comment Adam made.”

“What’d he say?” Peter asks, Michelle watching as the frown on his face grows deeper.

She loved Peter, she did - loved how good, kind and generous he was. Loved that he was passionate about making wrongs right. Loved that despite the overblown guilt complex he carried with him, that he was committed to learning and trying to do some good in the world - both as Peter Parker working for a dingy lab in the city and as Spider-Man.

But she didn’t love this - the way Peter held onto things, how he could hold a grudge and be insanely petty over things, even if it would be entirely justified as it was in this instance.

Michelle bit her lip, debating how she wanted to approach this only because she knew that Adam - dickish as his comments had been - was still someone she’d have to work with in the fall. That Adam, who Michelle knew would get horribly offended at being called racist and would be someone who would likely defend her if someone was _blatantly_ racist in the English department - was just a product of the system.

That Adam himself was just a blip in the long line of white men before and after him that would say passive aggressive and subtly racist comments to her, completely oblivious that they were part of the very same problem that they claimed to try and fight against. 

Michelle had a thick skin - she’d had to, growing up as she did. A person who was neither Black enough or white enough… sitting in the middle of two worlds and feeling as she if didn't truly belong to either of them. 

As Peter searches her face, Michelle considers what bringing this up would mean - not for them but for the future, how _much_ she was willing to expend emotional energy towards something that she’d not only endured her whole life, but would have to do even more so the further she got into her career.

A combination of exhaustion from writing a paper the night before, the hunger she feels still in the pit of her stomach and the existential realization that there likely would never be a time when Michelle wouldn’t have to just “deal with it” when it came to comments like Adam’s that prompt her to speak as she says, “I got the internship with Professor Branbury.”

Peter’s face turns from concern to surprise, a smile on his face as he says, “That’s awesome, MJ. I knew you’d get it.”

Michelle lets out a laugh, sharp and more bitter than she intended it as she swirls some noodles around her chopsticks. “Yeah, that’s exactly what Adam said.”

Peter stills, the smile falling from his face as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Michelle scoops up the noodles with the spoon, pointedly ignoring Peter’s question as she shrugs and eats her food. But Peter’s insistent, asking again as she swallows, “What does that mean, MJ?”

Michelle sighs, setting the chopsticks down - sensing from the look on Peter’s face and his posture that this wasn’t something that he was going to let go. “It _means_ that he wasn’t surprised I got it because I’m Black.”

Peter furrows his eyebrow, Michelle seeing the anger pass over his face as he says, “He _said_ that? He actually said that to your face?”

“No, not-- I just know what he meant, Peter,” Michelle says, shaking her head. “Forget it, I told you, it’s not that big of a--”

“It _is_ a big deal, MJ. That’s-- that’s not okay,” Peter interjects, looking more upset by the second. Michelle can see the red starting to creep across his neck, a tell for anytime he got frustrated with something. “If he said something to you than you should--”

“What? Report him? It wasn’t like that, Pete. Besides, I have to work with him next semester and—”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Peter interrupts again, putting his own chopsticks down as Michelle lets her spoon rest inside the bowl in front of her, “MJ, I’m serious. You should talk to the dean. Tell him—”

“Tell him what, Peter? _What_? That Adam made a snide remark that our very white dean would just take as being sarcastic? Tell me to be a team player and that Adam was just joking? Something that would make me look like a sensitive bitch playing the race card?”

Peter flinches at Michelle’s swearing but she’s heated again - feeling the anger roll around in her stomach, anger she knows shouldn’t be directed towards Peter but towards an unjust society that automatically paints her and people that looked like her as having an unfair advantage as she sighs, “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this with you.”

“MJ—”

“No, Peter. You do this every time I bring something like this up,” Michelle says, the frustration dripping from her voice as she continues, “this isn’t something you can just… fix.”

Peter frowns, leaning forward slightly as he says, “But it’s important to speak up, MJ. It’s— it’s wrong that he thinks he can get away with something like that.”

“But he will Peter and it’s not—” Michelle pinches the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to inhale then exhale slowly as she tries to calm down. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It _is—_ ”

“Peter, please. Just— just drop it,” Michelle interjects, bringing her hand down as she locks eyes with him, “I’m not going to report Adam. Not for this.”

Peter looks like he wants to say something more but he must see something in Michelle’s eyes that gives him pause, pressing his lips together as Michelle sighs again.

It _wasn’t_ okay, Michelle knew that. The kind of sly, passive-aggressive comments that people like Adam made weren’t anything like the kind of slurs her darker-skinned cousins or even her little sister heard most days, but it still hurt. It still stung, to have it be implied that any promotion or advancement you received was because of some kind of ‘minority check’. 

But Michelle knew that she was ‘right’ in a sense not to say anything, only in recognizing that any kind of pushback that she would receive would only further set her apart - label her as ‘angry’ or ‘problematic’.

That if it ever came time to actually report someone, that she would’ve “wasted” her chance to do so - especially for something as relatively benign as this. 

When she was in high school, Michelle didn’t give a fuck - speaking her mind and calling out bullshit whenever she saw it. Yet the older she got, the further she got into her education and the more the spaces she strove to be in that had people who looked less and less like her, Michelle finally understood the wisdom of what her mother used to tell her all those years ago - one of the last lessons she taught her before she died. 

_“Choose your battles, Meesh. Be smart about it,” she’d said, smiling up at her from the kitchen table, “Don’t let them shove you into a box.”_

‘The mean one’, ‘the bitch’, ‘the angry girl’ - all words that Michelle had heard throughout junior high and high school, both spoken to her and about her when people thought she couldn’t hear. The anger, the fire and the passion about injustice never wavered - part of that burn propelling her forward, towards becoming someone that mattered. To become someone that people would be forced to listen to.

But she wasn’t there yet. And Michelle knew she’d _never_ get there if she let the Adam’s of the world get to her, not when she had bigger battles to fight as she picks up her chopsticks and spoon.

She can feel Peter’s stare at her, can almost _hear_ the arguments forming behind his lips. But he listens to her request, if only for a moment from the way Peter’s shoulders go rigid. 

They eat in quiet, tense silence - Michelle letting her mind wander as they do, already dreading the moment when Peter would inevitably try to bring it up again.

* * *

That moment comes sooner than she expected, the two of them washing and drying their dishes. Peter’s uncharacteristically silent, Michelle content to work in the quiet as she mentally runs through the things Peter had forgotten on his last grocery run when he says, “What did he say exactly?”

“Who?” Michelle says, knowing what he’s talking about but hoping - in the slim chance that it’s something else entirely - that he’ll take the bait, looking at him as she dries off the bowl that Peter had used. 

“Adam. I don’t— I don’t want to push it, but… what did he say?”

There’s a tone in his voice that Michelle recognizes, questioning and slightly skeptical. Peter was her biggest fan and supporter, second only to May - Michelle knew that. 

But she also knew that Peter had met Adam several times before at department seasonal holiday parties and the few times they’d actually gone to the department cocktail mixers. 

She didn’t doubt that Peter believed her, but Peter was also the kind of person to believe the best in people. To want to hope that the person that he knew wasn’t secretly a racist.

Michelle wished it were only that simple, that racism was just police brutality and the KKK and not the insidious, pervasive thinking that it is - where “good” people are just as susceptible to racist thinking and remarks as the “bad ones”.

Michelle puts the dried bowl into the cabinet as she carefully says, “He said that he wasn’t surprised that I got the internship.”

“Okay…” Peter says, rinsing off the spoon before turning the water off, “Was it— I mean did he _mean_ to say—” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I knew what he meant” Michelle says, feeling the annoyance from earlier starting to creep up her spine as she closes the cabinet door. She was, as much as she could be - a sixth sense not unlike Peter’s in picking up snide racist remarks.

It was something Michelle had to face in her own family, code switching between her dad’s white family and the layers of racist comments that they’d say about her or towards her younger, darker skinned sister.

It was aggravating even then, a guilt that Michelle knows she shouldn’t feel herself - wondering on some level if _that_ was also why she was so reluctant to speak up. Her sister had to deal with so much worse, her cousins even more so - Michelle knowing that for as rude and demoralizing as Adam’s comments were, it wasn’t the same. 

Peter looks contrite, pursing his lips as he says, “I’m just— I’m just trying to understand—”

“What’s there to understand? He looked at me up and down, said he wasn’t surprised I got the internship and then said he was happy for me. It’s not… it’s not what he said but _how_.” 

“Do you think maybe he just meant because you’re a woman?” Peter asks innocently, Michelle frowning as she sets the towel down. Peter immediately lifts a hand up, wet spoon still in hand - flicking water everywhere as he says, “Not that I’m saying I’m doubting you, I’m not.”

Michelle lets out a huff, Peter putting the spoon down on the counter as he looks at her square in the face. “I’m _not,_ MJ. Promise. I believe you. If you said he was being racist, then he was being racist.”

He presses his lips together again, looking a mixture of both uncomfortable and conflicted as he said, “I just don’t understand why he would say something like that.”

“He probably didn’t even realize that what he was saying _was_ racist, Peter,” Michelle says, her shoulders sagging as she folds her arms and leans against the counter. “Or what it implied, at least.”

Peter begins drying the spoon as Michelle continues, “And maybe it was because I’m a woman but I don’t— I know that tone, Peter. I just— I just _know,_ okay? And it sucks and I hate it but—”

“Please stop saying it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever heard,” Peter says, sounding pained. “I don’t— that doesn’t matter. It’s still wrong, no matter what.”

Michelle scoffs, rolling her eyes as she unfurls her arms. “You think I don’t know that?”

Peter’s eyes immediately widen, setting the spoon and the towel down as he says, “No, I’m not saying that at all.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” She asks, forcing her voice to be even - exhausted from the day and from this loop around of a conversation, a sinking feeling in her gut that this wasn’t the end of it as Peter says, “It’s just… it’s wrong, MJ.”

“Yeah Peter it is,” Michelle says, feeling the fight drain out of her and the familiar exhaustion draping over her instead as she leans off the counter, “but what else is new?” 

She leaves the kitchen, Peter following right behind her as she says, “I mean it, MJ. I’m— I’m sorry that—”

“Don’t do that, don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault.” Michelle says, putting a hand up. “I don’t— that’s not what I want.” 

“What _do_ you want?” He tentatively reaches his arms out to her, Michelle hesitating slightly before leaning into it - pressing her forehead to his as she says, “For you to just listen. It’s not like Spider-Man can fight off four hundred years of systemic oppression and discrimination.” 

It’s said jokingly, meant to deflect about a situation that was anything but. Yet it has the opposite effect, feeling Peter’s arm around her tense as Michelle leans her head back.

She can see the storm in his eyes, an anger that isn’t his to have as he says, “MJ…”

“Peter, please—“

He sighs, Michelle leaning out of his harms as he wipes a hand over his face. “I just— I don’t get it. I don’t understand how you can be so… _okay_ about all of this.”

“I’m _not_ okay with it. It is what it is,” Michelle says, feeling the anger start to flare once more. “And if I want any chance of having a good rec letter from anyone in that department, I’m not going to get it from fighting every single snide remark from—“

“But you shouldn’t have to deal with that, MJ,” Peter interrupts again, sounding frustrated. “It shouldn’t have to be something that you just _deal_ with.”

“But I do, Peter. All the fucking time,” Michelle snaps, Peter looking at her with a pained expression on his face as she says, “And it’s exhausting okay? But of all the stupid shit I’ve ever heard, I’m not going to get boosted from my own department for something like _this_.”

She can see Peter working through several arguments, the frustration on his face more and more evident as the seconds pass. 

This wasn’t the first time that they’d talked about this, remembering all their old conversations in high school where she and Ned would commiserate about the way judges at Decathlon meets would direct their questions to Peter before anyone else. 

But Peter clearly didn’t get it - in the way that squeezes at something in her heart for why he was so insistent on reporting something that Michelle knew the result would end up being more trouble than it’s worth. 

Peter was smart, smart enough to be able to understand her hesitation. Yet Michelle also knew Peter prided himself on saving people from injustices, a stubbornly good quality even if in this instance - it made Peter act like the kind of white savior Michelle spent years arguing with in high school.

“It’s not _right_ , MJ,” Peter finally says, gritting his teeth together. “I hate that you feel that you just have to— to deal with it.” 

“I don’t _think_ this, I know I do. You think I _like_ hearing shit like that?” Michelle says, Peter quickly shaking his head as he says, “No. I’m sorry—”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, Peter.” Michelle says, feeling exasperated. “This isn’t something you’re going to be able to fix. This isn’t something I _want_ you to fix.” 

“But there’s gotta be some kind of—”

“What? Some kind of _what_?” Michelle asks, watching as Peter wrings his hands together.

“Nothing, I don’t know.” Peter runs a hand through his hair, “I thought Adam wasn’t like that.”

Michelle blinks then lets out a huff, shaking her head as she says, “Like what? Racist?”

“Yeah,” Peter says with a head nod, “I don’t see how he can work in the same department as you, take that same Justice in Literature course as you did and still say stuff like that.”

Michelle rolls her eyes before saying, “It’s not like it matters, not really.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, blowing air out of her mouth before saying, “I mean, just look at SI.”

Peter stills, Michelle bringing her hand down as Peter searches her face. “How many Black managers does SI have, Pete?” 

Peter frowns, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to think. “I don’t— I don’t know. You know Tony and Pepper have a strong diversity initiative.” 

“Sure” she says, chewing the inside of her cheek as she presses forward, “but think about it, Peter. What does it matter how much ‘diversity’ there is if there’s only white managers? If all the people of color never get promoted to leadership? A company that size doesn’t have talented Black people?”

Peter looks dumbfounded at that, Michelle pressing forward, “And it’s not even just about Tony but the people he’s chosen, the people who actually work there making the every day decisions. It’s not as simple as saying ‘oh well we’ll just hire a Black person and call it a day’ because _that’s_ not inclusive, that’s tokenism.” 

Michelle exhales, hating this feeling as if she’s explaining something that she shouldn’t have to - knowing Peter was smart enough to figure out all this on his own as she says, “It’s not enough just to give lip service to it, Peter. No one is immune to this. I mean even May’s guilt of it.” 

“What?” Peter asks, looking a mixture of indignant and terribly confused. “What are you talking about?”

Michelle sighs. “Do you remember that market that she told me about, off of 125th? How I shouldn’t go over there at night?”

Peter presses his lips together, the familiar red creeping down his neck as he says, “Because it’s unsafe, MJ.”

“ _Is_ it? Any more unsafe than _any_ place in New York?” Michelle asks, staring into Peter’s eyes. “Why is that place more unsafe and why did she feel the need to mention it?” 

“I don’t know?” Peter says, rubbing his hand across his face again, “Maybe she heard something or someone said—”

“It’s a _Black_ neighborhood, Peter. Or it was, until gentrification took over.” The words hang in the air, Peter looking like the wind’s been taken out of him as Michelle continues, “And maybe May didn’t consciously think about that when she told me to be careful, maybe someone did just pass that along to her but… think about that for a second. Why? Why would someone warn about that specific neighborhood at night? When she didn’t do the same for the market off of 3rd?”

Peter’s quiet, Michelle watching as he seems to go through a rush of emotions as he tries to wrestle with the implications of what she’s saying as Michelle says, “I love May, you know that. I even like Tony, blow hard that he is.” 

Michelle laughs but Peter doesn’t, almost looking lost as Michelle takes a step forward. 

“Peter—”

“Have I… have I ever—” he cuts himself off, as if he doesn’t want to know the answer. She watches as his eyes flick away and then to her, steeling himself as Michelle tilts her head.

“Peter—”

“MJ, I don’t. I don’t want you to think you have to just… just deal with this with me. You shouldn’t have to _anywhere_ ,” he says in a rush, “but especially not with me.”

Michelle feels a pang in her chest, knowing that Peter means well. But this isn’t something he’ll ever understand, remembering a heated argument they’d had when they were in high school about his crime fighting activities.

That even if Spider-Man was a “good” hero, the question of whether he was unwittingly contributing to the same kind of injustices to people who looked liked her or her sister - acting as judge and jury for the neighborhoods he patrolled, _especially_ concerning which ones he patrolled more than others. 

That fight ended with an apology on his part, Michelle remembering the awkward conversation like it was yesterday - Peter stammering over himself and looking just as apologetic as he did now, faced with the kind of uncomfortable introspection that came with confronting subconscious biases. 

Michelle knew it wasn’t her job to educate Peter on these things. But there’s something that stops her from blowing it off or trying to placate him, less the love she has for him and more the realization that if their relationship had any chance of surviving in the long run - especially with the far off future of marriage or even kids he’s hinted at before - this wasn’t something she could carry by herself.

Michelle takes his hand, squeezing it gently before saying, “I get it.”

“I mean it, MJ. I’m not—“ he stops himself, seemingly hearing himself talk before Michelle has the chance to say anything further. “I know you don’t want me to apologize and I’ll stop. I…” he takes her other hand, eyes searching her face, “I want you to feel like you can talk to me. About anything. Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear.”

“I do that anyway, nerd,” Michelle jokes, catching the sad smile on Peter’s face - knowing from the look in his eye that he catches her deflection for what it is. 

That even this - right here with him - was just another defense mechanism in a long line of many, all meant to try and placate the people around her. 

A part of Michelle missed who she’d been in high school, more forthright and unapologetic. But the years weighed on her, the further she got into college and the whiter her classrooms got - recognizing that even for being part white, she’d never truly belong. 

“I want to be here for you. For all of it. And I know I can’t… I can’t fix it and I hate that,” Peter says with a sigh, shaking his head before bringing his head up, “But it’s not about me. And I’m sorry that I’ve been making it all about what _I_ think.”

Michelle squeezes his hand again, recognizing that this was the bare minimum to expect from a partner yet her heart feeling warmed all the same. 

Michelle knew that Adam was the least of her worries, but that things like this - the big and the small - were something that she _had_ to share with him, not to explain or to help him understand something he would never, but because they were partners. 

Michelle stares into his eyes, standing in the middle of their apartment - a safe haven just for them - and recognizes this moment for what it is.

“I shouldn’t have to thank you for saying that,” Michelle begins, Peter looking more guilty before changing his features, “but… thank you.”

“I love you, MJ. So much,” Peter says fervently, Michelle smiling at him as she says, “I love you too.”

He runs his thumb across her hand, biting his lip before saying, “What can I do?”

Michelle brings him closer, a small smile on her face as she says, “Just listen to me, Pete.”

Her shoulders sag, letting all the frustration and the anger drain out of her as best she can as she wraps her arms around him.

Peter immediately complies, melting into the hug as he holds her. 

Michelle closes her eyes, letting herself sink into his warm embrace as she says, “I just want you to listen.”

Peter doesn’t respond in words but in action, holding her tighter as Michelle holds him closer.

This wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with racist bullshit and it wouldn’t be the last. And while Peter would never understand, he wanted to. 

It wasn’t enough. It was the bare minimum - Michelle knew that.

But it was a start. 

**Author's Note:**

> On this day June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled in favor of Loving vs. Virginia - [ stating that bans against interracial marriage violated the Constitution.](https://www.oyez.org/cases/1966/395)
> 
> However, it wasn’t until 2000 that interracial marriage was fully legalized in all 50 states, [ a decision that when it was voted on 41 percent were against it.](https://calendar.eji.org/racial-injustice/nov/3)
> 
> Peter and MJ are a couple I’ve loved for decades but the MCU’s version has a crucial, incredible difference.
> 
> MJ - Michelle Jones - is mixed. 
> 
> I have no idea where the MCU is taking this couple, though if the subtle as a sledgehammer “my friends call me MJ” hook in HOCO was any indication, they mean for her to be as seen as important to Peter as his comic-based canonical, endgame partner. 
> 
> And that is so important. 
> 
> As a lot of you have learned in the past few weeks, racism didn’t end in the 60s. It doesn’t start and end with police brutality or petitions or protests or anything that can make a white person feel like they’ve done something.
> 
> It’s pervasive. It’s systemic. It’s brutal and insidious and it’s baked into our society.
> 
> I’ve been wanting to write something to commemorate Loving v. Virginia for months... and after the past few weeks, this ended up just being 5k worth of self-projection and aggravated frustration. 
> 
> It won’t speak for everyone. I didn’t intend it to.
> 
> But if anything, I hope this and the past few weeks mean something. That it leads to hard conversations. For deep self-reflection. For changing institutions. 
> 
> It won’t end racism. It’s not as simple as that.
> 
> But it’s a start.


End file.
